


Two Hours Over Brussels

by RovingTiger



Category: Cabin Pressure, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RovingTiger/pseuds/RovingTiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MJN Air have to take Nicola Murray MP, Leader of the Opposition and her team to Brussels. What could possibly go wrong? Rated Mature for language, it's a work in progress but I'll try to be regular with updates</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Douglas heaved the door of the portacabin open and shuffled over to the kettle, made himself what could charitably be described as a cup of warm brown and slumped onto the threadbare sofa. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he leafed through the flight schedule. Brussels for eleven, taking four passengers, hand luggage only.

"Which party?" called Douglas to Caroline and Arthur when they entered a few minutes later, not looking up.

"Oh, are we having a party? Can it be fancy dress? I love fancy dress, and I've been saving that frog costume for..."

"Good morning to you too, Douglas," Caroline cut across Arthur, "and it's the party of Her Majesty's opposition."

Arthur frowned. "I've not been to one of those before. Is it fancy dress?"

Douglas raised an eyebrow. "Yes Arthur, one has to come as an Opponent of Her Majesty or her predecessors, such as Ken Livingstone, The Pope, or Napoleon. So the frog suit may still come in handy."

"Aww Mum, I left it at home, can we go back and fetch it?"

"No we cannot, for, alas, there is no party today. Douglas is referring to the gaggle of politicians we're taking to a brunch meeting at the European parliament. Go on then, How did you figure it out, Douglas?"

Douglas grinned, "Ferrying politicians to Brussels for brunch meetings on a Thursday morning was pretty common at EA - the day after PMQs has been wrapped up, the opposition's to do list was short enough by then that they could afford to send top brass to liaise with the exiled members of the hierarchy over taxpayer funded croissants. Looks like nothing's changed."

"Well, best behaviour everyone", Caroline sighed as Martin walked in, "we don't want to cause an international incident. We don't want a repeat of the Bolivian Mustard Incident, do we Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head, mumbling something about the size of the spoon.

"So who are the political heavyweights we're escorting today?" asked Douglas, as Martin scanned the schedule and weather reports.

"Olly Reeder, Nicola Murray, Helen Hatley and Malcolm Tucker." Martin read. Douglas' left eyebrow shot up to join the other.

"Crikey, so it's the Leader of the Opposition, not to mention Darth Tucker himself."

Martin looked at him blankly. "Sorry, I don't follow politics, I know who Murray is, but who's Tucker?"

"Malcolm Tucker was the government's director of communications under the last government. Spin Doctor Extraordinaire. Probably more powerful than the PM was after the initial enthusiasm gave way and the messiah complex took over. Man's a legend in Whitehall, apparently once tracked down someone who badmouthed a minister calling into Five Live and threatened to waterboard his cat until he called up again and retracted his comment."

"Well in that case I think it best that we all try and give him a wide berth. He'll be the tall one with the lean and hungry look." Caroline said. "They'll arrive in an hour, and I want us to be ready to welcome them onto the plane. That's how it works with proper dignitaries like this, polite at first and then out of their hair. Arthur, if you could refrain from asking questions that would be wonderful. I've been dreading politicians chartering us ever since you asked that Canadian MP if he'd ever ridden a moose."

"Actually Mum, he laughed at that one. He only started throwing things when I asked if he'd ever ridden a beav..."

"Quite, Arthur, we don't need reminding of that. Frankly you would have been fine if he hadn't been sitting next to the political correspondent from the Globe and Mail. Get yourselves ready, we've got an hour. And best behaviour, a good flight and this could be a regular deal. Chop chop!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Why don't we have a red carpet, Mum?"

"Because we can't afford a carpet for the cabin, let alone for the apron. Anyway, protocol is more relaxed for the opposition. They're technically civil servants on strike rather than dignitaries."

Martin grimaced. "Maybe don't tell them that Arthur. Just don't speak unless you're spoken to. And then don't speak, unless it's a safety issue."

As they were talking, a gaggle of suited figures began striding from the terminal building. Although, as Douglas was quick to point out, only the thin grey one was striding. The lanky one was scurrying after him, and the other two were hanging back in conversation. As they reached the apron, Caroline stepped forward.

"Mister Tucker, I presume. Welcome to MJN Air, I'm Caroline Sheppey, I'll be your..."

Tucker waved a hand and shouted across the tarmac, "Yes, good morning, enough of the pleasantries dear, it's too fucking early in the morning." Only slightly quieter, he turned to the greasy haired, bespectacled man behind him. "Are these cunts the crew?" he asked. "Jesus, I know we burned most of our bridges with the unions, but is this all we can afford these days? Ollie, did you vet these fuckers?"

"Well, it's not common practice to, I'm pretty sure they have to be CRB'd to work on an airline, and anyway Helen said..."

"Fine, I accept that Little Miss Frumpy isn't important enough to assassinate these days, but what I'm more worried about is that, the engines are running and both the pilots are out of the pissing plane."

Martin started, stammering "Sir, it's standard procedure, and the automated systems are..."

"Oh, who gives a fuck." said Malcolm. "Frankly after yesterday a crash might give us a few sympathetic headlines for once. Maybe even give the polls a boost and sweep Miller into power on sympathy vote. A mix of Buddy Holly and a shit JFK. Come on Ollie." And with that, and an apologetic nod of greeting from Ollie, they climbed into GERTI, but not before Malcolm had taken another furtive but utterly disdainful glance over his shoulder at the crew, seeming to linger on Douglas and deepen the furrows of his brow.

Unfazed, Douglas suppressed the urge to dryly remark on Martin's visible shock and discomfort, Caroline's face of thunder and Arthur's puzzlement, mouthing unfamiliar words as if to try them on to size and finding them as well fitting and tasteful as Zubaz pants at a funeral. Caroline, blinked, regained her composure and stiffened as the Leader of the Opposition arrived.

"Sorry about Malcolm, he's fine after coffee, full of beans then! Literally more than figuratively, if I'm completely honest! Nicola Murray, MP and this is my Special Advisor, Helen Haltey," who gave a terse nod, "thanks for turning around at such short notice for us. It's great to meet you and your crew."

Caroline shook the proffered hand and introduced herself, giving Arthur a sharp dig in the ribs as he opened his mouth to speak.

"And you must be the captain! Looks like we're in safe hands, Helen!" Nicola turned to Helen, who shook her head.

Douglas cleared his throat, "I'm the first Officer, ma'am. My hands are, I can assure you, extremely safe, but will only be used if Captain Crief here is somehow unable to use his."

"Oh, sorry, hello, you look extremely captainly, Mr Creif. Captain Creif, I should say, what with you being the captain and all!" Martin forced a weak smile, and motioned to the doors.

Helen rolled her eyes at Martin as Murray stammered her way up the stairs. "Sorry about that. You should have seen her with the Spanish PM and his translator. Just make sure there's just enough turbulence to keep her in her seat with her bloody rescue remedy and we might be able to scrape together a tip for you."

"She seems nice, Skip!" stage whispered Arthur as Helen disappeared into the fuselage with a Blackberry in hand.

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Douglas, "politicians are known for their empathy and generosity in the same way that bison are noted for their tact and ability to crochet. And I should bloody know."

Caroline interrupted before Martin could frame a question to Douglas' muttered curse, drowning out Arthur's queries about Douglas' experiences with bison. "Settle down, boys, and get a move on. I have a feeling we'll want to get this over as quickly as possible. And Arthur, please don't try to make conversation with these passengers. Last thing I need is a spread in the Daily Mirror about us. Martin, get into the cockpit and get clearance to go as soon as possible. Those supra-national intra-party relationships won't liaise themselves, you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me for updates - I have a bit of a week coming up, so apologies in advance. 
> 
> P.S. If any of you don't have the misfortune of knowing what Zubaz pants are (or don't have the fortune of being a learned Bugler with prior knowledge of the greatest email ever sent or received - to be found here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3TiX466YVU) I encourage you to google them. They will simultaneously brighten up and ruin your day.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fitton Tower, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, requesting clearance for takeoff." Martin released the radio switch and turned to Douglas. "Why did he look at you like that? Tucker, I mean."

"Haven't the foggiest. Maybe he was still dazzled by my good looks."

"I think he has a wedding ring on."

"He works in politics, Martin," said Douglas with a hint of annoyance, "historically a ring worn by one of his proffession's proved to be a pretty flimsy a guarantee of sexual orientation and marital commitment."

"Seriously though, he looked like he knew you or something."

"Maybe I gave him a bumpy ride with EA back in the 90's or something. He seems like the kind of man that could hold a grudge."

"Would you tell the truth if I put the cheeseboard up for grabs?"

"As much as I would like to create some fanciful lie to snaffle the Wensleydale...

They were interrupted by the squawk of the radio.

"Rodger, Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, this is Fitton Tower, you are cleared for takeoff."

"Rodger."

As Martin manoeuvred GERTI onto the runaway, a few red warning lights flickered on and an insistent pinging noise started.

"Don't panic, Martin, it's the nav systems that are down, nothing else, keep going," Douglas said, "one of them back there is probably still using a phone. I'll call Arthur in."

*********************************

The group had settled down a little, each taking up a row of seats, all on their mobiles. Nicola was already sniffing her rescue remedy. While Malcolm and Helen were furiously texting and emailing, jabbing at their screens, Ollie was lazily scrolling. Or at least he was until he sat bolt upright.  
"Nicola, you're trending. Your name is trending on Twitter"

"What? It's only seven o'clock, which bastards are tweeting at this hour?"

"You getting involved in a catastrofuck at seven? Oh, well we've had a lie in compared to most fucking days. Probably some twat on Breakfast mentioned you in passing, maybe that fucking misquote of Shakespeare you made a few days back. "Both a borrower and a lender be", Jesus. Now you're a socialist, a loan shark and a philistine." Tucker said. His voice hardened. "What else is trending?"

"Oh fuck." Ollie went white, and the others craned to look at the phone.

At this point, Caroline remembered why there had been no safety announcement, having left Arthur at the back of the plane under instructions to say nothing unless he found a tiger in the toilet. Leaving the noise of the microwave, she composed herself and stepped into the cabin.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to MJN air, if you have not flown with us before would you mind..."

Not a single eye met Caroline's. "We've flown before, thanks, we won't need a safety briefing, especially not from fucking Angela Lansbury."

Caroline stiffened, and pointedly continued after making a mental note to give Tucker decaf coffee. Perhaps with some of the 'emergency milk' Arthur had well intentionally placed in one of the overhead lockers a few months back. "Please make sure you familiarise yourself with the exits and the exit procedures. The lifejackets are under your seats, they are operated with the toggle. Thanks very much." She finished Icily.  
"You forgot one Mum!" Arthur cried from the back of the cabin. "All mobile phones and electronic devices must be switched off for the duration of the flight..."

*********************************

After pressing the PA button and calling for Arthur, the door opened and let in the noise of a considerable and expletive filled commotion in the cabin.

"Hello Arthur, someone's still got a phone on, and it's playing havoc with GERTI, get them to turn it off, will you?"

"That might be a problem, Douglas. I can't quite get a word in at the moment."

"I can hear that, Arthur, do you think Caroline can get them to turn their phones off?"

"Maybe, but could you go and talk to her? And them? The grey haired man looks like he might bite me."

Martin sighed. "I'll call tower and get them to hold us. Carl might get a bit ratty, but noone seems to be taxiing right behind us, nor is anyone on the landing path at the moment, so we'll have a few minutes to reset everything at least."

Douglas nodded, got up and ducked into the main cabin, where he found the passengers shouting down phones and at each other. Tucker was shouting down two. Caroline was trying to get his attention, largely by trying to shout louder. Douglas, who kept a weather eye on politics, could work out the causes from some of the fragments of screamed profanity - the phrases "leadership challenge", "PLP", "free whip", "EU Referendum" and "Dan Fucking Miller" were flying about like so much confetti at a wedding, if each confetti scrap had a tiny "fuck you" written on it. Douglas decided that shouting wouldn't work, so grabbed the PA handset off the wall and shouted for calm over that, which at least got everyone's attention, even if they didn't fully shut up.

"Right, I don't know what's happened, but it's incredibly important that you all turn your phones off." This was greeted by howls of anger from Tucker, Hatley and the lanky one, but Douglas continued, "if you had listened to our safety briefing, you'll know that they can cause problems with the electrical systems of the plane. This being a rather mature example of this model, all of you using your phones has scrambled our navigation systems, so we can't take off. Please sit down, turn your phones off, stop shouting, and we'll be away as soon as possible."

Tucker leapt out of his seat. "I can't turn my phone off, I'm trying to head off the most misguided at backstabbing since Judas decided he fancied an expensive new donkey. In fact, turn this fucking plane around. We need to get back to London before I tear someone's throat out because Dan Miller's isn't close enough." He glanced at a pale looking Murray, who nodded.

At this point the PA pinged, and a worried sounding Martin said "Douglas, I need you to turn off those phones and come in the flight deck for takeoff immediately. The air ambulance needs to take off and it can't do that until we've gone. Tower is getting a little panicky."

Douglas looked back to Tucker, as Caroline remarked quietly, "As terrible as this sounds, Mr Tucker, I imagine the headlines might be bad if you block that from taking off."

"Is there any way we can divert to London?" Murray said.

"London airports never have free slots on the day except for genuine emergencies, and the flight-plan is filed for Brussels. Now please turn the phones off."

Tucker moved towards Caroline with a finger raised and his full Kubrick stare engaged, but Murray moved cut him off. "I am your boss, Malcolm, and we have to go. We can deal with it from Brussels." With a face of thunder, Tucker backed off, turned off his phone, and slumped into his seat. As the others did the same, Douglas returned to his seat, finding Martin quietly hyperventilating, and strapped in for takeoff.

"Nav's reset. Let go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the relative lack of humour and artistic licence in aviation so far.


	4. Chapter 4

Martin eased GERTI into level flight and set the autopilot, then paused for a moment. "Douglas, what caused all that? You know, back there? I'm used to shouting when it's Arthur related, but I have no idea about politics." 

"Well Martin, it's quite exciting, although it never happened at Air England. According to twitter, at least, it sounded like Murray was being challenged by Dan Miller, her number two, for the leadership of the party, in order to allow her MPs in the PLP to have a free whip to vote and campaign freely on the upcoming referendum on membership of the EU. Or possibly that he was threatening to run unless she allowed MPs the suspension of collective responsibility of the shadow cabinet, which is admittedly far from accepted convention compared to the real cabinet, but either way it's bad news and I couldn't quite make it out over all the screaming." Douglas looked over at Martin, who still looked blank. "You didn't understand any of that, did you."

Martin frowned. "Some of it, but what did Yasser Arafat want to do with furniture?"

Douglas sighed. "You really should pay more attention to the airport lounge televisions. Even if it is CNN. Maybe it would help if I described it in terms you'll understand? Think of it as me threatening to blackmail Carolyn into giving me your job as captain, after telling Arthur it would make the flight experience more comfortable for the passengers, unless I get the entire cheeseboard in perpetuity. In which case I would allow Arthur to choose the cheese, therefore leaving you to pick up the scraps I deign to give you of the Kraft cheese, Dairylea and Babybels that would inevitably replace the Camembert, Gorgonzola and Edam. And then I'd take your job anyway and go on to lose it when Carolyn finally shacks up with Herc."

"Good God."

"Yep, it's that bad. It's like Armageddon back there, and presumably on the ground as well."

Martin stared at the horizon for a few seconds. "Douglas, that metaphor came a bit too easily to you."

"Don't worry, it was my native wit rather than any pre-planned agenda for a palace coup. I like having nice cheese. I also like having a salary."

Martin started, but Carolyn knocked on the door. Once let in she whispered, "it's still quite tense in there, but I just wanted to let you know that if we're ever going to stand a chance of a repeat booking that might keep this airline in the black, I must just offer a fairly obvious warning that you must get us there and back as quickly and smoothly as possible, and that means that you refrain from any hijinks, japes, pranks, capers, antics, tomfoolerly or horseplay."

"What about shenanigans?" asked Douglas dryly.

"Especially not shenanigans. Just leave the PA system alone and we should be fine."

Carolyn left Martin looking slightly relieved and Douglas looking slightly miffed.

"There's still monkey business?"

"Shut up, Douglas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on updates - hectic week. Also sorry for calling Carolyn Caroline in the last three chapters, really dim of me. I'll go back and edit if I have the time and memory.
> 
> Also standard disclaimer I forgot to put in before - I do not own Cabin Pressure or The Thick of It or any of their characters, plots, et cetera.


	5. Chapter 5

Malcolm and Ollie had retreated to the back of the plane, huddled together after Malcolm had proposed they work on what might have happened while Helen help Murray with drafting some statements.  
"Why the fuck now? He's bolted way too early. And this is the worst possible way to do it, he'll tear the party apart." Ollie whispered.

"Aye, and we'll no longer be able to ignore the European issue while we watch the government tear themselves up on it. I mean, these last few weeks JB and Pearson have been sweating like Lee Evans in a fucking sauna. Miller's too much of a policy wonk for this kind of shit; I bet that cunt Nick's got to him, he's the only Nutter left with enough balls and a thick enough skull to do something like this. I thought slinging him into that think tank would get rid of him." 

"Miller's hardly a Nutter though, is he? Or a Euronutter. He's been a reassuringly competent brand of fuck-all for years."

"Yes, but Miller's not acting rationally. He could just be manoeuvring for the chancellor post, but why go to these lengths? What is that arsehole doing?"

Ollie raised an eyebrow. "So you had no inkling of this? No whispers, rumours, quiet words? Either he's gone unfathomably rouge, or you're losing your touch."

"Don't you fucking dare," Malcolm growled, " I was fucking Mr Omniscient of Westminster while you were still shitting yourself in front of Thomas the Tank Engine. No, either someone's started the rumours to try and split the party, or Miller's gone potty, and I doubt that. He knows damn well that Murray's weak enough to be pushed without tearing the party apart. We need a palace coup, rather than a full blown Arab Spring."

"But can we bet on them just being rumours? And rumours can take on lives of their own, especially these days. A twitter rumour very quickly becomes political fact."

Tucker sighed. "You're right. We need to take this seriously. If he's called the contest, she'll stand as much chance as a promiscuous blonde called Tina in an 80's horror movie. So it's either a false flag operation, Miller waving his dick about or just an unsubstantiated rumour. We'll need strategy and statements off you for all three, and I'll pull up the ammunition crib sheets for Miller, Swain, Ballentyne, Hanway and the usual group of bloggers on my phone. We only use those assets carefully and as emergency measures if this is true, but they could be vital."

"So the rumours are true about your blackberry of doom? I thought they were just to scare the interns?" Ollie frowned, "You've got a file on me then?"

"Less of a file, more a fucking codex, fella. Now get those statements done, we've got about 90 minutes."

Meanwhile, Helen and Nicola were at the other end of the plane, surrounded by folders.

"I'll have to call him first when we land, won't I?" asked Nicola.

"Probably, once we work out what's actually happened."  
"Oh, but even if it's not true he'll be so fucking smug and nice about it. And he'll be trying not to laugh if I bollock him, he never takes me seriously."

Hatley rolled her eyes. "What's it going to look like if you get to the press, who are probably haring to the airport from Brussels right now, and you say "I haven't spoken to him, I'm shit-scared of him?" If he has done it, the call will go to answer-phone. If he hasn't got anything to do with it, it'll still go to answer-phone, because he'll still be tucked up in bed, dreaming of electric fucking sheep."

"We still need to draft that message though, don't we? What would you say?"

"Ooh, Ooh, can I help? I'm good at helping, that's what I do!"

Helen and Nicola turned to Arthur. "Excuse me?"

"I got you your teas, here," Arthur said handing them over, "but it sounds like you could use some help."

"Go on then, if you've been listening in, how would you help?" Nicola asked acidly.

"Well making teas and coffees usually helps things. Not much, but a little bit. Although if it's a phone call you could try a prank phone call, they're brilliant! Douglas let me do one to a pizza place, and that sort of helped, because..."

"Oi! Richard Hammond!" bellowed Tucker, who had noticed the scene in the front of the plane. "Yes, you, the runty little cabin boy, standing on the fucking burning deck! Stop bothering your next PM and bring us our coffee!"

Roused from the galley area, Caroline advanced down the aisle. "Excuse me sir, but although I didn't hear what he said, and its likely he was a little out of order, I do not appreciate you being so rude to my staff."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from fucking Sybil Fawlty's Nan. And your coffee tastes like its already been used to give Jim Davidson an enema."

Caroline smiled sweetly, and said pointedly, "I'm sorry, I can assure you at least that Arthur here means you no harm." She put a hand on Arthur's shoulder and steered him into the galley.

Tucker slumped back into his seat, but then sat up, took off his glasses and came up the aisle and sat down with Nicola and Helen. 

"I've just had a thought, who benefits most from all of this?"

"Well," said Helen, "The government. This makes their troubles over the EU seem less awful."

"Exactly. So it's odds on that they've got something to do with this. And I'm not a man who believes in coincidences. Especially," he said standing up and walking towards the flight deck door, "the coincidence of having a pilot who's a fucking dead ringer for Peter Mannion."


	6. Chapter 6

Malcolm hammered on the cabin door, drawing a shocked glance from Arthur, who, at his mother's bequest, was clambering on one of the seats and rooting around in an overhead locker trying to reach the emergency milk.

               

"It's locked Sir, but I'm happy to discuss any concerns or complaints you might have."

 

Malcolm ignored him, and kept hammering. "What are you then? Brothers? Twins? The cast off of the government's central office's breeding programme for cloning sad old cunts? Get out here, I need a word."

 

_Ding Dong_

"Hello, this is your captain speaking..."

 

"Not this twat, I want The Duke of Somerset, not Edward the Sixth!"

               

 "... as per recent terrorism legislation, cabin doors are locked from the inside and only to be opened in an emergency or by cabin crew. Please direct all concerns to the cabin crew." Martin's voice was professional, but wavering.

               

Tucker turned round to see Carolyn attempting to free Arthur from the overhead locker he was now stuck in.

               

"No I won't, Archie from fucking Balamory, I need to speak with your first officer about Peter Mannion."

               

There was a short silence, filled only with the sounds of a struggling Arthur, and then the ping as the seatbelt light flicked on.

               

 "Sit down Malcolm, I think you're overreacting a little, and a tad paranoid." Murray had stood up now, and beckoned Malcolm over as a child would to an angry dog.

               

 "This is it," murmured Helen to Ollie, "I think we all knew this day would come. We'll be telling this story to our grandkids. Or at least the SPADs."

 

Carolyn bustled up the aisle, and adopted her most strained, fluting, dealing-with-arsehole-customers-while-avoiding-GBH voice. "Mr Tucker, I can assure you that no-one on this flight has anything to do with the Secretary of State for Citizenship and Social Affairs, and if you are about suggest that somehow my airline is involved in some massive conspiracy to undermine the Right Honourable Mrs Murray, might I respectfully suggest that you have your head examined. I run a small business, Mr Tucker, and would do nothing to jeopardize your chances of further bookings, and I rather felt that engineering a enormous conspiracy with the Shadow Chancellor, Fitton Air Ambulance Service, the Secretary of State for Citizenship and Social Affairs, your colleagues in Brussels and Carl the Air Traffic Controller would not be conducive to your customer satisfaction." 

                 

Tucker had calmed down a little, and shrugged grudgingly. "Fine, but what about your First Officer,  fucking Biggles the Fisher King up there. I know the type. Would he try and do something illegal or immoral behind your back?"

 

"Actually Mum, that sounds exactly like what..."

 

"Quiet Arthur. Mr Tucker..."

 

_Ding Dong_

 

"Sorry, can't help overhearing, my ears are burning. And no Mr Tucker, there's no need to use the PA, you're making yourself heard absolutely fine. What fiendish skulduggery exactly are you accusing me, a career pilot for a tiny provincial airdot, of pulling off?" Douglas' voice was as sickly and sweet as a six year old Dickensian protagonist with consumption.

 

"Who are you?"

 

"I'm Spartacus!" Then _sotto voce_ , _"Martin, that's your cue. What do you mean you don't know that reference? Well I could lend you the DVD, but I think in terms of comedic timing you've already overshot the mark."_   He cleared his throat. " In all seriousness, sir, I am just a humble pilot. Well, arguably something of a polymath, but I am not, nor ever will I be, a political animal. I am not wrapped up in whatever plot Miller has or has not sprung. Because, I am correct in thinking, am I not, that you're not sure if this challenge is even real?"

 

"Aye, Miller's Schrodinger's cuntbag. But other people think it is, so either way, you, the bloated fucking sex-doll pilot from Airplane, have something to do with whatever shitshow is unfolding down there right now." Malcolm took a step back. "Ohh, oh-ho-ho-fucking-hoohh, I get it. You're Mannion's fucking kin, aren't you? You've got the same stupid hair and the same smug expression of a spaniel that's shat itself. And your voice is too similar, even if it's a bit more sozzled Orson Welles. Am I right?"

 

Tucker was in full flight now, as Helen slapped down Ollie's hands fumbling with the camera on his phone. "If you need to add to your spankbank, go and ask the BBC for that Newsnight interview." she hissed.

 

There was a pause and the PA went dead for a moment.

 

"As much as you seem to be enjoying this, it's as much fun as a tricky shit. My job's on the line, all of our jobs are on the line, and you had better stop being such a cunt and tell me or I'm going to eviscerate you with this fucking spork." Tucker shouted, on the verge of screaming.

 

_Ding Dong_

 

 "Can I just point out that Captain Crieff here bears a striking resemblance to Julian Assange..."


	7. Chapter 7

Ollie, Helen and Nicola had managed to pull Malcolm away from the door that he had nearly pulled off its hinges, and calmed him down enough to get him to sit down, when Arthur, now free from the overhead locker, suggested that Nicola offer him some of her rescue remedy.

 

After Ollie, Helen, Nicola, Carolyn and Arthur had dragged Malcolm back into the seat, his ranting about cunts, Mannion and obscure light entertainment references from the 1970's, was interrupted by the click of the lock on the cabin door. Martin cautiously poked his head around door.

 

"Oh, Hello Martin! So nice of you to join us! I'm surprised you're not using a stick with a mirror on it." Carolyn said, with all the exhausted sarcasm she could muster.

 

 "Yes, sorry, but plane needed to be flown, and I didn't want to let Douglas out until, well..."

 

"Look, you fucking regency dandy," Malcolm spat, now leaning back in the chair with his arms folded and wearing the cold expression he usually reserved for Terri, "is Paddington Bear up there ready to explain what's all the fucking kerfuffle's about?"

 

"If you mean First Officer Richardson, yes. Well, he can't explain the whole political thing, but he can explain why he has nothing to do with it, which might help. He's only willing to do so if you promise not to attack him or the cabin crew, and in return we'll all refrain from letting the papers know what's recorded on our black box."

 

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, before nodding. By now, the others were merely hovering around him with ashen faces, rather than holding him down, but stiffened as Martin returned and Douglas walked out into the cabin.

 

"Well, we've had Ginger, now it's Algy!" Malcolm cried, suddenly jovial. "This had better be fucking good." He steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow.

 

"Mr Tucker, I will lay bear all," said Douglas, "namely the inadequacy of your vetting procedures, once you or your boss are willing to make up for the sheer amount of emotional stress and threats of physical harm we have been subjected to. May I suggest a tip? Maybe a few hundred on top of the charter price, a good deal at much less than the 10% which is merely etiquette in this industry?"

 

Nicola cut across before Malcolm could protest. "Yes, fine, whatever."

 

"Each?"

 

"Don't push your luck."

 

"Worth a try. Fine, well, I am no politician, never have been and never will be. And I have not got, nor have I ever had, any political connections. Except for one. To cut to the chase," Douglas said, eyeing Malcolm, "Peter Mannion is my half brother."

 

"Oh, I see it now!" Carolyn said. Her face darkened. "Why didn't you tell me when you saw the flight schedule, you fool?"

 

Douglas shrugged. "What difference would it have made? And anyway, it didn't cross my mind as being a problem because I've not seen him in almost twenty years. Now, being savvy political operators and veritable connoisseurs of political scandal, I'm sure you know what happened to Peter Mannion almost twenty years ago."

 

"The love child." Helen said. She frowned. "And that's why you don't talk? Did you disapprove?"

 

"I certainly did. Considering my first, and current at that point, wife was working for him as cleaner at the time."  Douglas said. " _That_ cleaner."

 

Douglas almost chuckled watching the realisation dawning on his audience, and hurriedly tried to hide that dawn behind looks of sympathy, or in Malcolm's case glee.

 

 "I'd forgotten that titbit! As juicy as that detail was, why was the whole Game of Thrones part omitted?" asked Malcolm.

 

"I was lucky enough to meet a hammered Steve Fleming in an airport bar in DC that night. He was in a bit of a state, don't know why, and I brought him another drink and persuaded him not to include that part in his media briefing, in the days before the internet. He must have been so hammered he forgot about it all together. So you didn't know, Mr Tucker?"

 

Malcolm waved his hand. "I was in the strategy unit in those days, Fleming was in charge of the tactical stuff. Jamie would have been on the team back then, in fact he might have got wind the story in the first place. Probably had to be wrestled away from the phone with that particular detail, maybe Fleming wanted it for later. Jesus, if he hadn't gone in the Great Nutter Purge, we'd probably have avoided all this shit. I wouldn't be lumbered with the fucking Carpenters here." He gestured to Helen and Ollie, who bristled, but seemed to have decided to refrain from poking the recently tamed bear with a stick.

               

Nicola coughed. "Thank you, Mr Richardson. So sorry for all of this, there will be the tip you asked for in the post in a few days. Well team, as interesting as this has been, I think we'd better get back to focusing on the fuck up on the ground, don't you? We need Miller hung drawn and quartered within an hour of landing."


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you OK, Douglas?" asked Martin.

"Why wouldn't I be?" said Douglas.

"You just recounted a repressed traumatic experience in a traumatic situation?"

"Do you have a psychology student living in your place at the moment, perchance?"

"Yes, but that's beside the point."

"It's hardly been repressed; a few marriages later and you tend to put those things behind you. It's just made the choice of where to spend Christmas a little easier."  
Martin decided to hold his tongue about Douglas' more recent experiences, and decided to change the subject before he blurted something out.

"So do you think Carolyn will make it through the journey without murdering Tucker?"

"She is far too professional for that; she'll find a discreet way to his life a little more hellish for the duration of the flight. She's something of en expert."

*************

"So, Nicola calls Miller and we call other suspects and the credible hacks the moment we land, and if it's not him, get him to put out a press release immediately and promise him the chancellorship?" Helen asked.

"He knows he's got the chancellorship, he's not deputy PM material; If we do get into government he's too important and talented to be anywhere else, and the bastard knows it." Tucker said. "This will confirm it, but although he is frustratingly clean, we also inform him of his SPAD's activities on craigslist circa 2008. It's a shame, the fella's talented and unusually loyal, young family too, but he's our only way to Miller. I've been saving that for rainy day, and today's a fucking Katrina of shite. He's the best way to get Miller to hold his tongue and not jump on this rolling wagon. We'll just push his SPAD in front of it." Tucker looked grimly pleased with himself.

"And if he has pulled the trigger? Reactively or otherwise?"

"Then we're fucked, but we brief against him and suggest he's out of touch. More importantly, we call in all our favours with the rest of the cabinet and weave a narrative of a power-crazed but incompetent wannabe who's so turned on by the way the government is fucking itself over about Europe that he wants to jump in with his wee Henry Kissenger and finish the job."

"Or," said Helen, "we offer to hold a referendum in as vague terms as possible, and just rescind on that promise once we get into office. We've held off on endorsing the planned referendum, but if we do so we get around needing parliamentary and party support. And it does poll pretty well."

Nicola closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So I walk off this plane, tell that to the waiting press and then leave to have brunch with a group of people whose   
livelihoods depend on Britain being in Europe?"

Ollie shrugged, "They're only out here because they're too toxic, too messed up, too past it or too green to be in Westminster. Most burnt their bridges years ago."

Malcolm frowned, "Sorry to burst your bubble, darling, but it hardly solves the problem does it? Miller will still be able to launch a leadership challenge on the back of it."

"Yes, but if he's gone for it this we're powerless to prevent a leadership battle. This deprives him of the Euronutter cadre, makes us look unified against the government's squabbling, and we can claim the policy's been in the pipes for a while and Miller's just out of touch and far from the party's power."

"Fine," shrugged Nicola, "but if J-fucking-B jumps on the referendum bandwagon, you'll be pushing it."

"No, No, No, No, No. You're right Nicola, and believe me, those three words feel as strange in my mouth as Fatty's bollocks." Malcolm was suddenly animated. "He'll just pick it up and run with it, and you'll be left with nothing."

"May I interrupt to say that we are about to make our final decent?" Carolyn's smile could have been painted on. "And to say that also that forcing the Prime Minister to call a referendum would make him look like a sheep with the purposefulness of a blancmange, and that if he were to refuse to call a referendum his party would tear him or itself to shreds?"

Helen raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you?" Malcolm and Ollie shared a quick glance and a shrug of agreement.

"Far be it from me to dictate manifesto pledges," Carolyn said, "but I figured that providing you with the decision you've been dancing around all flight may help secure future   
contracts. And my former husband is a died in the wool supporter of the Prime Minister's party, and a raving Europhobic. He's also a first class fuckwit, so If I have to prod you lot into power, so be it." She ignored the clatter of Arthur dropping the teatray.

Nicola cleared her throat. "Thanks for your input, I'll discuss it with my professional advisors if you don't mind."

Carolyn smiled and walked away.

"Fucking hell she's right." Nicola hissed. "Announcing a manifesto commitment would screw them over more than it screws us."

"Yep," said Malcolm, "but if Miller hasn't bolted today, then we do it properly, not getting off the plane. You leave the Euronutters to us Nicola." He turned to the others. "And if   
anyone mentions how we got this policy, even if it's in your fucking published diaries, my ghost will haunt the fuck out of you. Now gird your loins, we'll be landing soon and we have people to fuck over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been too long since I updated this. Hope you enjoy.


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